


Lines

by Luminosus



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, how confused gays can i be, snake gets jealous over anime characters more at 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:56:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminosus/pseuds/Luminosus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otacon and Snake in the early years, before things got serious. Snake deals with his feelings. For tumblr user portableops' birthday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday buddy!!!

War had lines.

It had boundaries. It had frontiers, and limits, and outposts. It had factions, outlined by uniform and ideology (though this was debatable, in recent years.) War was navigable, manipulable, and with some electronic meddling, completely controllable, like a function that used human lives and ammunition shells instead of x’s and y’s. 

And yet, despite what his predestined DNA would have you believe, Solid Snake was not bound to the confines of the mechanism that inspired his conception. Solid Snake did not adhere to war. Perhaps in this way, his creators must have thought, Snake was the ultimate weapon. For what better way was there to break a completely outlined scheme - war - than to inject it with a man who knew of no such things as ideologies and uniforms, boundaries and frontiers, limits, outposts, and lines? Solid Snake was no more than a shell which contained a heart of indifference, for whom rules did not apply. This was his job - more than his job, it was written in his DNA. Nothing got in his way - and not now, nor ever- would it. Not even the lines of war.

After Shadow Moses, things were different.

Life became, by most people’s standards, semi-normal - as semi-normal as being put on wanted list of terrorists was. So to say, things weren’t _war_ , they were more or less random. Life was moving from cramped apartment to dingy hotel, the constant sound of keyboard strokes, and the quiet, expectant anxiety that Otacon would find another lead on his own pirated creation. Those first few years of Philanthropy were rough. They were long nights and unfulfilled days. Snake couldn’t remember ever feeling so useless; in Alaska, he woke, fed his dogs, hunted for his own food, and chopped his own wood. Things were similar on the battle field - he worked alone. Snake wasn’t alone, now. Now he had someone to protect, an ideology to defend, and a world that needed him. Maybe he _was_ confining to this whole “war” thing, after all. 

He didn’t like to think about it.

When his mind would get the best of him, or when the cabin fever would so saturate his being that he’d rather drive his head into the wall than stay inside, Snake would go out. It didn’t matter where, or weather, or time - as long as he could walk and clear out his mind, Snake did so. Otacon was uncertain about his outings. He would badger Snake from his sitting position, eyes glued to the bluish glow of a laptop screen, “Don’t go out, Dave, I haven’t checked to see if there’s any security cameras around, yet.” Or, “It’s cold outside, David! Look, I know you’re used to Alaska, but seriously, how much good is that jacket going to do for you in this storm?” And Sometimes, “It’s too late, you’ll end up running into police and ruining our position.”

Snake knew what he meant. Don’t leave.

Snake never _wanted_ to leave. These were the years, after all, in which he discovered how much he actually liked the lanky little nerd. He wasn’t always good at showing it, but he genuinely cared about Otacon - Snake wouldn’t have agreed to help him if this hadn’t been the case. However, both Snake and his partner knew the consequences of former’s pent up mind - those nights spent locked in his room, unable to speak, remembering the missions and the faces and the dead were all too preventable. So Otacon would let him go. He knew Snake wouldn’t get into trouble, and if he did, he’d call. It was what state Snake would come _back_ in was what he worried about.

Normally, Snake would return with a brighter, less worn look in his eyes - what Hal _liked_ to see out of him. Occasionally, he’d arrive with the faint aroma of alcohol on him and tumble listlessly into bed. Again, Hal didn’t mind - though he did worry sometimes that Snake’s self medication was beginning to go too far. Sometimes, however - perhaps once in a blue moon, even - Snake would shuffle in through the doorway, take a single look at Otacon with such a wanting, forlorn look in his eyes - then abruptly turn heel faced away, out the door again, only to return in the morning.

He solemnly understood. Hal figured those were the kind of nights where Snake had been thinking too much about _him_.

Otacon’s hunch wasn’t all that wrong. Among the plethora of subjects Snake had tried (and failed) to block out during these days, Otacon - or rather, the issue of Otacon’s _relation_ to himself - occasionally drifted into view. What _were_ they? It had only been a year or so and Snake had been swept up (or rather, you could say, _Otacon_ had been swept up), devoting his life, energy, and talents to another man’s cause. There was no way Snake could have refused, back then, when the shivering scientist had realized he’d need a significant amount of man power to back his world-wide search and destroy mission. Snake had soon realized, however, that Otacon was much more than he’d bargained.

Of course, Snake knew full well the guy was a little, to put it nicely... _obscure,_ from their Shadow Moses encounter. The thirty-or-so year old really lived up to his self proclaimed title of Otaku quite nicely. He wasn’t very shy about it, either; nor was he shy about padding around the apartment at 4am to make himself a Hot Pocket because he forgot to eat while streaming “the new JoJo” all day. Okay, Snake reasoned, so _what_ if the engineer was a little goofy; at least he was friendly. Maybe the solider didn’t want to watch all three Evangelion movies in one sitting, but he did anyways, even if it meant having to console Hal after a certain decapitation. So _what_ if Hal pleaded with him to watch the 4Kids dub of One Piece for fun? It was better to see him laugh than to cry. So _what_ if, even after all the begging this world could allow, Otacon _still_ fell asleep against Snake’s side ten minutes in to every Inuyasha episode they attempted to watch together, and no amount of prodding would get him to move, so Snake would just have to bear it out and sleep beside him? On those merciful days that allowed breaks between their normally serious and secretive lives, Snake was beginning to think he was really starting to like Hal.

And sometimes he was really starting to _like_ Hal. It wasn’t a stretch to say Snake was envious - of what, however, he was not sure. How adoring Hal was towards his flavor-of-the-month anime girl? How doting and devoted he was towards his favorite characters? The way he looked at Sniper Wolf? Wait.

_The way he looked at Sniper Wolf?_

Relationships were suppose to have lines - this one did not. It was unnavigable, and muddled, and Snake could never tell if the way Otacon fell so seamlessly beside him was out of trust, or something more. Life was learning to live - and learning to live _with someone else_ , for once. Snake clenched his fists in the icy night air. _Dammit, why can’t I just tell him how I feel?_

Mean while, unbeknownst to David, Hal lay awake thinking the same. It was... embarrassing, and cliche, and Hal knew there was no way in hell he’d ever let Snake know. So the twin lovers, both infatuated as much confused, spoke not a word. There would be no confession. There would be no “official thing” between them. There would be no “us” - just Hal and Dave. There were no lines. 

Snake cracked the door open, checking for signs of Hal like he usually did, noticing the scientist was in the latter of his two positions - on the computer, or asleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, coupled with the hum of the old heater, was a surprisingly calming welcoming. The solider slid out of his cargo jacket and unlaced his boots, fatigue soon gnawing at this mind. _It wouldn’t have gone like this if Hal was awake,_ his thoughts rolled on, _I would have come in and he would have turned to me, he’d give me that, “Oh thank God you’re alright” look, even though of course he knows I’ll be alright, and I’d want to say, “I missed you.” or, “I was thinking about you.” or even, “Let’s do something together." But I can’t. Then I’d leave._ Snake sunk into the only other place to rest in the room, a gray, obviously worn armchair, carding a hand through his hair. His eyes shut, words swimming around behind the darkness. It was incredibly loud in the near-silence of the hotel room, that night, so loud that Snake could have missed it.

“Oh, Dave, you’re back.”

Instinctively, Snake’s eyes snapped open, mechanically taking in his partner siting up between in the sheets with the _exact_ “Oh thank God you’re alright” look he had foreseen. His jaw clenched, Hal taking notice. “I fell asleep before you could get back, I guess,” Otacon gave a nervous laugh, _far_ too nervous to be called a laugh in the first place, “Sorry.” The next part, no matter how often Snake tried to piece together the story, made no sense. His mind had been full forced stopped, like it had hit a brick wall, when Otacon had spoke. Catching him like this often lead to him responding in strange ways. But for some awful reason, Snake’s mouth found that returning, “Can I?” was better than formulating an actual reply. Otacon’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. In some way, that registered as, “Could I sleep with you?” Normally, such a scandalous remark would send Hal into a nervous fit - Snake was _sure_ \- but now, for some reason, it did not. Hal began to push back the sheets beside himself. Snake, in some such way, understood the gesture. The maneuver was done in silence. Hal lay against him, chest to chest, head perched in such a way that his breath fell against Snake’s collar bone. Everything melted away in the overwhelming feeling of _Otacon_. It was incredible how they could fit together in this way, without a word, without some preconceived plan, _without lines_.

They would sleep together every subsequent night. Neither mentioned it. Snake wasn’t jealous anymore.


End file.
